Castle Walls: The 32nd Hunger Games
by Honeymouse
Summary: Here we stand... *SYOT*


Castle Bricks: The 32nd Hunger Games

…_Night before the reaping…_

Bright eyes stare adoringly at the glowing figure situated in the room's center. Plain white, asylum like walls are tinted teal from the board's light projections. The hologram rotates clockwise, painting the walls with different patterns as it continually orbits. While spinning, the hologram opens its every nook and cranny to brilliantly alive eyes.

Bromley Stamn, Head Gamemaker, stands, back arched, over the thin metal railing. His long, wiry arms are folded over his chest as his pulse hammers against his skin. Bromley's fingers play, unconsciously, with the loose threads of his worn jacket.

Bromley is so absorbed in his creation that he doesn't hear the faint click of Central Control's doors open and swing to the side nor does he hear the sharp chatter of heels tapping to meet the granite floors.

"Bromley."

Bromley's green eyes flicker up, he gasps loudly in startle but when he sees his guest his face becomes more soothed.

"President Burle, if I knew you planned on coming by tonight I would've tidied up a bit," Bromley states, good naturedly. The way he coos around the honorific is more or less a tease than an actual regard of his President's status. From the look on Matilda's face she could care less of the jab, she even quirks a smile. The blatant disrespect is harmless in private anyways.

"I haven't seen you in nearly a week, cousin. You know, just because I became president and you, Gamemaker doesn't mean the blood has suddenly become cleansed from our bonds. We're still family and family keeps in touch," Matilda says. She looks Bromley clear in the eyes, as for him to know she means it. All she gets is a snort in return that is equal parts playful and stubborn.

"You know how it is this time of year. I had a few urgent things I've been needing to get to and some of the assistants this year are new," Bromley huffed, "talk about clueless. I thought these guys were supposed to come pre-trained."

Bromley isn't angry or even frustrated; in fact, he seems to think of the memories fondly. It isn't any secret that Head Gamemaker Stamn is rather friendly and more than a touch laidback, unlike many of his predecessors.

Matilda, finding Bromley's smile especially infectious, shares a grin with him. Their eyes hold the same starry twinkle and a quiet, comfortable wave of silence wades through them. For a moment Matilda forgets where she is but then her head sends an S.O.S signal flying over the ocean both cousins had taken a detour through and she perks up.

Everything about President Matilda Burle suddenly becomes robotic.

"Nevertheless, I came to see the _arena,"_ Matilda breathes. She sounds toxic, a mere husk of the delightfully sweet cousin she was not even a minute ago.

Bromley twitches beside her. He knows that bitter sweet tone.

"You know how I love surprises, but after your debut from last year I couldn't stand to wait."

Bromley's eyes turn dark and dry like a lake that's been soaked up by the soil, a pitiful puddle now.

Bromley watches. He watches Matilda slide gracefully down the few stairs leading to the center console area, holding the hologram. He watches as she glides around the podium, taking in every image. Finally, he watches as she reaches out to touch a transparent tower only for her finger tips to sail straight through the masterpiece and out the northern window.

Matilda grins. Her plum colored lips pull back into a dangerous smile. Beautiful but anything other than safe, like an Amazonian flower pumping with poison. People have ceased to exist under that perfectly pretty smile, "it's gorgeous."

She starts up the stairs, moving without hesitation towards Bromley. She grasps her cousin's face in both hands tightly. Her nails scratch the side of Bromley's cheeks and it burns but he doesn't show a flick of pain on his smooth, almost still wet behind the ears, face.

"We are their gods and they, cousin, they are our _slaves," _Matilda voice shakes with distaste for every single child ever born into the families of those who rebelled from her ancestor's bloodstained hands. Bromley can only think about how proud his uncle and father and aunt and mother would be to hear Matilda with the steel conviction, contempt, and absolute hatred harbored by her strained voice now. Perhaps they will hear the same tone over diner tomorrow after the reaping.

But…Bromley doesn't think they would be proud to know that the tears building up in Matilda's eyes aren't just from the simple happiness that many of the traitor children will be dead in three weeks' time. For, while Matilda may be a Goddess, these people are not slaves, they are Titans and for some reason that the Gods will never know, they are jealous of the Titans, despite everything they have. And Bromley, sweet Bromley, always devoted to Matilda, will make the Titans pay for corrupting the Goddess he worships.

Alright, that was just a little beginning to this SYOT I've been wanting to start. The tribute form will be posted on my page so feel free to get started! And please have your tributes sent to me via PV. Onto other topics, how did you like the first chapter?


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